


fuck you! - sincerely, the universe

by orphan_account



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Hospitals, M/M, Protectiveness, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “After everything.” Neil sighs shakily. “After everything, things nearly fuck up because I walked in front of a bike.”





	fuck you! - sincerely, the universe

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in march but didn't post it because a) i think it's a little ooc and b) I know nothing about injuries. I'm not a doctor and it's probably really really unrealistic but i wrote this simply because of Andrew being worried about his bf!!!
> 
> also i got such lovely responses on my last aftg fic that i just really wanted to post more hahaha

Answering Nicky’s phone call takes all his willpower. He would much rather ignore it and relax. 

But Andrew gets the feeling that Nicky would only be calling him if something isn’t right. His cousin should be distracted by the day planned out for him, Kevin and Neil. They’ve all fucked off somewhere, whilst Andrew remains at home, recovering from the long-lasting effects of the flu.

Neil had insisted that he will happily stay behind to sit with Andrew, but Kevin had shot Andrew one of his dramatic looks, as if begging him to say no. It’s a strange development, but Kevin enjoys Neil’s company, and they can natter on about other things besides Exy.

“Hi, Andrew! So -  so listen.”

Listening to Nicky, in all his panic, does nothing but irritate Andrew. It must be the third time Nicky has said the words  _ don’t freak out _ and by now, he’s said  _ everything will be fine _ at least eight times. Sometimes the words are in a different order, but the general message is clear. Something is wrong. Everything is definitely not fine, and there’s probably plenty of reason to ‘freak out’ right now. 

And Andrew can’t find himself to care. Not enough. He growls out a brief, “Spit it out,” because Nicky’s waffling is actually starting to wear down his eardrums. Andrew listens, waiting for an explanation, debating whether he can summon the effort to hang up. This twenty second phone call has done nothing but bore him. He stifles an actual, real yawn.

“It’s Neil.”

The yawn cuts short. He sits up straight, his muscles twinging in protest to his sudden movement, but the pain is less than important. Those two words have fuelled the relentless adrenaline pounding through his veins, pushing so hard that he’s surprised the skin on his wrist doesn’t burst from the pressure.

Nicky jumps in before Andrew can even think of words. “Everything’s fine, though. Completely and totally  _ fine,  _ but …”

“If everything was fine you wouldn’t be ringing me,” Andrew snaps. He’s already beginning to feel that awful, protective desperation clambering up his throat. That feeling hasn’t risen since fucking Baltimore, and Andrew hates every second of it. “ _ What  _ happened?”

His cousin tells the story, helpfully supplying  _ it’s all good, though _ in between every sentence. If it’s an attempt to ease the tension curling in Andrew’s muscles, it doesn’t work. As Nicky is talking, he is halfway out the door.

“ – it came out of nowhere, Andrew, I swear. One minute, fine. Next minute, Neil’s on the floor, there’s a cyclist somewhere – and everybody is bleeding and fuck, he … Neil …”

“What?” he bites out.

“There’s like, so much fucking  _ blood, _ ” Nicky says, hushed. His insistence that nobody is badly hurt has faded now, and the real panic is beginning to intertwine with his voice.

The second Nicky tells him a location Andrew is on his way, breaking several speed limits by at least double their value. 

* * *

Blood.

Nicky was right. There’s a lot of it. That disgusting, sticky red seems to be dripping everywhere. It’s dripping from a gash above Neil’s eyebrow. It’s pooling on the curb next to them. It’s wet and hot and dark, patching over a wound on Neil’s arm.

“Get  _ off  _ him,” Andrew says venomously, shoving Nicky out of the way. Worry and anger and panic are simultaneously trying to climb from his throat, trying to escape. They’re usually kept under lock and key but today, right now, as Andrew looks into Neil’s wandering, half-conscious eyes, everything bubbles to the surface.

He’s fucking  _ bleeding _ . So much. Andrew tries his very, very best not to panic. It doesn’t work very well. The relentless echo of  _ neilneilneilneilneilneil _ doesn’t subside, even when he leans down and tries to rouse Neil from this delirious state.

Territorial urges cut through his body. Neil is never, ever again leaving without him. Andrew will glue himself to Neil’s hip if that ensures his safety, and even though their agreement has been stopped now, it’s clear it’s still needed. Nobody will ever touch him again. Ever. Ever.  _ Ever. _

Neil is sort of awake, but it’s obvious it’s taking all his effort to form one coherent sentence. That’s not a good sign. Despite the fragile state of the man beneath him, Andrew digs his fingers tightly into the flesh of Neil’s uninjured shoulder, mainly to ground himself than anybody else. The beginnings of a fit of rage are creeping up on him, colliding with his desire to remain calm, keep Neil safe.

“Andrew,” he says, more breath than words. “’M … I’m …”

“Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ tell me you’re fine,” Andrew says. “Try that shit and I’ll kill you, Josten.”

Neil tries to laugh, but the huff of air forces his face into a pained expression.

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that,” he says, the second time gentler, but still not kind by any measure.

“I called for help after I called you,” Nicky admits, and withers underneath Andrew’s impossibly harsh gaze. For somebody so flooded with concern, he manages to make his eyes that familiar picture of anger. “What was I supposed to  _ do? _ I’m not letting him bleed out on the sidew –“

“He’s _not_ going to bleed out.” _Don’t even say that._ _Never say that._

His voice catches in his throat as he demands for Kevin to tell him the full story, the  _ proper _ story. Is this somebody trying to warn him? Is this an attempt to get any of them?

Weak fingers scrabble at Andrew’s arm, Neil’s only method of getting attention. He battles the untimely urge to lean down and kiss him. The strong, rebirthed Neil Josten is completely helpless, and Andrew wants to curl around him like an omnipotent shield and never let go. Never let anybody touch him again. 

“My fault,” Neil pants. “I walked … out. In front.”

“Shut up.”

“Andr –“

“I said,  _ shut up. _ ”

Neil does as he’s been told. Even in a state of agony, Neil is considerate enough to mumble a quick, “Yes or no,” before pressing his fingers on Andrew’s arms. 

“Yes,” Andrew says, accompanying it with a frantic nod. Whatever Neil needs to hold on.

Andrew hates quite how much he’s being ripped apart at every sign of discomfort Neil displays. He winces quietly when he tries to exhale too loudly, and Andrew clenches his jaw,  _ hating  _ this. Hating Neil for doing this. If this was anybody else, like Kevin, or Nicky, Andrew would be calm and collected until help arrived. He wouldn’t do anything other than sit there. Maybe he would feel something faint stir deep in the pit of his stomach, and there would be some degree of care there, but there’s no way they would they ever cause this. Whatever this is. This is lighting his nerve endings on fire and pumping panic through his bloodstream. This is angry pain crawling under his skin. This is fucking  _ torture. _

“Don’t have to come,” Neil says, each syllable a victory. Eyebrows raise at his vagueness and he adds, “You don’t need to. You don’t …” he takes a sharp inhale and lets out a quiet, agonised whine. Andrew feels even more panic wheedle its way past his façade and then he is gripping Neil’s face gingerly, not wanting to squeeze too tight. Even though every impulse in his body is telling him to hold on for dear life, grip on so Neil will never leave him.

“If you’re about to say something stupid, don’t even bother.”

“No. Listen.” Neil still manages to be stubborn in his ill state. If Andrew wasn’t so fucking scared right now, he would roll his eyes. “You don’t like it there.”

“Where?”

“Hospitals.”

“Tough shit. I’m coming.”

“Andrew – you –“

_ I hate you I hate you I hate you _ . 

“Don’t say stupid things,” Andrew snarls, and Neil goes quiet again, letting Andrew brush gentle fingers across the strip of skin which hasn’t been bled on. “One hundred and ninety-three percent, Josten,” he adds quietly, hoping Neil doesn’t hear that last addition. Knowing him, he’ll try and laugh, end up hurting himself even more.

* * *

 

Neil is fine.

Andrew has grown a hatred for that word. When the woman says  _ he should be just fine _ , Andrew grits his teeth. 

He stays in hospital for a few days, but when he comes out, plants a kiss on the side of Andrew’s face in a  _ I missed you _ sort of way.

Andrew doesn’t give him more than a few kisses. He lets Neil lean on his shoulder occasionally, but otherwise, Andrew keeps his hands entirely off of him. Neil is injured. Neil is on pain meds. Neil needs time to recover.

This obviously annoys him, but Neil respects the  _ no _ enough to not do anything stupid.

Neil sits out of practice for three consecutive sessions. It’s clear that Kevin has that question ready on his tongue –  _ when will you be able to play again? _ – but Andrew effectively shuts him down with a cold stare. Kevin’s one-track mind is a major inconvenience, because now even Neil has started pushing himself, hoping to manage the next game. 

“You won’t do it,” Andrew had told him plainly on one of the occasions Neil had tried to lift his stick and aim for a pretend goal. There had been an extremely aggravated stare which came his way.

“I need to get back soon. We’ve got games.” Neil takes a swipe with the stick, and grunts in pain as his sprained wrist protests at the movement. “I can’t … can’t miss any.”

Andrew narrows his eyes. “Yes, you can.”

“They need me.”

He bites back his initial response of _ I need you _ , instead mumbling, “Junkie.”

As if the whole getting-nearly-killed-by-a-cyclist hasn’t ever happened, Neil is still practicing like mad, hoping that his injuries won’t stop him from playing next game. 

If Neil was anybody other than himself, Andrew would hit him. Perhaps add a new bruise to the ever-growing collection flowering on his skin. But the thought of inflicting harm on the skin which is already so scarred and damaged sends Andrew’s self-hatred spiralling. Even the thought of doing that is unbearable.

Neil takes another swipe, this one much harder. The stick clatters to the ground, along with the injured man. In a burst of worry, Andrew rushes over, crouching down next to him. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Neil says, gripping his arm. “For fucks  _ sake _ !”

“What did I tell you?” he says coldly, although worry burns in his chest. 

“I don’t need you doing that,” Neil snaps at him. Andrew is surprised, but keeps his unimpressed exterior, not retreating. 

“Yes or no?” Andrew asks, his fingers hovering over Neil’s waist. When he receives a nod, he weaves a secure arm around Neil and tugs him to his feet, carefully avoiding the bruises on his ribs. Even though Andrew could easily lift his entire weight, Neil still attempts to make it easier for him, pushing himself up using his legs.

“Just my luck, isn’t it?”

“Shut up. Don’t get depressing.”

“After everything.” Neil sighs shakily. “After everything, things nearly fuck up because I walked in front of a  _ bike _ .”

Andrew presses his lips into a thin line and allows Neil to rant for a couple more minutes. Eventually, he runs out of things to say, and spends the rest of the evening lounging around with his uninjured arm pressed against Andrew.

A few days after, Andrew catches Kevin sending Neil those awfully reprimanding looks, and his hand is around the taller boy’s wrist before he even realises it. Maybe he should loosen the grip. Kevin is starting to pale.

“Stop it,” Andrew tells him quietly. “He’s not ready to play yet.”

Andrew isn’t quite sure why he’s so irritable. Kevin sending him strange looks would be no problem, especially seeing as Neil doesn’t even notice. But ever since Neil had emerged from the hospital with a set of fresh stitches and sprains, Andrew has kept an obsessive eye on him. Mainly because he knows what Neil is like. It would only be his luck that he’d injure himself even more by doing something stupid.

And, as Andrew has discovered, the prospect of Neil dying happens to be unbearable.

“I wasn’t –“ Kevin tries, but trails off under his vehement stare.

“Don’t,” is all he leaves Kevin with, letting the door swing shut behind him with a bang.

It takes a whole week for Neil to finally convince Wymack he can play, and even though the older man has given it his okay, Andrew doesn’t hide his distaste for the idea. He tries to stop Neil at some point, but is hushed with a firm kiss, and then Andrew just lets his face fall into a scowl whilst Neil collects his stick.

“I’ll try not to die, alright?” Neil says softly. 

Andrew feels some alien feeling rush through his veins, something hot and consuming, and it doubles when Neil leans forwards and presses a very, very soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“If you’re any more injured when you come off that court, I’ll snap that stick in half.”

Neil just rolls his eyes and assumes position. 

* * *

Ichirou visits. When he does, Neil tenses up and goes to push Andrew behind him, as if that will do any good. Andrew grabs his arm to stop him and feels his pulse thundering under his hand, although his face betrays absolutely no fear.

Neil gets into a car -  _ without _ Andrew, which is awful, but Andrew isn’t stupid enough to order Ichirou around and expect to get away with it. Ichirou has no reason to kill Neil unless his injuries will affect his game. They won’t, not in the long term. Anybody knows this. But Andrew still sits unatrually still, waiting for Neil to come back with worry gnawing at his gut.

When Neil does come back, he seems fine, a little shocked if anything.

“Anything interesting?” Andrew asks, which means  _ tell me everything _ .

“Same as I was expecting. Am I okay to continue, will this affect my earnings, will they need to ‘deal’ with me,” Neil says, doing quote marks in the air and looking slightly faint. “But it’s all fine now.”

“I don’t like that word.”

“What? Fine?” With a smile, Neil corrects himself. “Everything’s  _ okay _ .”

Andrew huffs, trying to hide the aching relief which has spread throughout his whole body.

* * *

Everything goes well for a few days. Practices run as if there’s no problem, and despite Andrew keeping a suspicious eye on him, Neil only shows the slightest pain. Not enough to be concerning. Andrew lets his worry decrease until it’s barely there, and he isn’t overly aware of Neil’s fragility anymore. 

They are kissing one night, fingers tangled in hair and tongues rolling comfortably against each other, when Andrew slides his hand down to Neil’s shoulder. There’s barely any pressure behind his grip yet he doesn’t miss the tension which pulls Neil’s body tight, as if he’s curling up away from something.

Andrew pulls his hand away. “What is it?”

“Just a pain. It’ll go.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

With narrowed eyes, Andrew pushes the pad of his finger against the same spot, this time harder. Neil doesn’t quite catch the whimper which escapes.

“Liar,” Andrew says. “Is it like that all the way down?”

Neil sighs, almost defeated, his breath tickling Andrew’s cheek. “Only if you push hard.”

“I thought I said you couldn’t play Exy until you were healed.”

“I  _ am _ healed.”

“No, you’re fucking stupid.” Although Andrew’s voice is sharp and his eyes cold, he knows Neil sees straight through it all. There’s a small grin unfurling on his lips and Andrew leans forwards again. He doesn’t quite kiss Neil. “Let me see.”

“What, my arm?”

“Yes or no?”

“Uh, if you want.” When Andrew narrows his eyes even further, Neil quickly adds, “Yes. It’s a yes.”

Neil lets himself be pulled out of his shirt, the familiar scarred torso coming in to view. Except there’s a new addition to his collection of injuries. There’s big bruises, almost the size of Andrew’s palm, on Neil’s side.

“Just a pain,” Andrew repeats.

“They’re bruises. I have loads.”

“Shut up. You’re such a fucking martyr.”

“Andrew,” Neil says. He’s taken his hands off Andrew now, although their legs are still pressed together. “I’m okay. Honestly. It’s just bruising.”

Andrew stares at Neil for a long time - he looks at his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his shoulders, his hair - and decides that he hates him.

“I hate you.”

“Mhm.” 

Before Neil can do much else, Andrew shuts him up with another kiss.

That night, Andrew makes Neil hold ice to his arm. The next day, Andrew makes Neil miss practice because of it. Neil makes a face but Andrew cuts him off with a, “You’re going to injure yourself more if you keep doing that.”

Neil’s mouth twists into a smile. “Careful. Anybody will think you care if they overhear.”

Andrew can’t think of a witty response, so he just says, “If you hurt yourself permanently, it’s a death sentence.”

This wipes the smile from Neil’s face, but he doesn’t seem upset by Andrew’s sharp tone. When he looks at Andrew, his eyes have cleared slightly.

“I know.”

“Now go away,” Andrew says, because if Neil sticks around much longer, it’s going to burn him from the inside out. Neil throws any sense of his out the window. “I have practice to go to.”

Neil smiles at him again.

* * *

A few days later, Andrew points at Neil’s arm and says, “Let me see.”

Neil shows Andrew his arm without a word of protest. The bruises are mostly faded.

As always, Neil is fine.

“I’m a survivor,” Neil says softly, almost a whisper. “I’ve survived gunshots and burns, Andrew. This … this is nothing.”

“ _ This _ could end your career if it got worse.” They both know that the end of his career means the end of his life, but those words are too painful to say.

“Andrew. I’m fine. And I mean it.  _ Fine _ .” Just as Andrew goes to snap a reply, Neil says, “Trust me.”

Andrew can’t say no to that.

“I hate you.”

Neil laughs softly and leans in for a kiss. Andrew can’t say no to that, either. Neil kisses him slowly, softly, as if it will damage this moment if he moves any harder.

“You didn’t tell Kevin about my arm, did you? He’d have a fit.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Kevin wouldn’t shut up about it for months. I’d have to kill him.”

Neil smiles at him, and leans his head in for another kiss, this time with a little more force. More security.

More certainty.


End file.
